


the bones beneath your skin rattle and crack before they hatch

by Phoenix_Allura (Artemis_Autumn_Marie)



Series: Nix's Thominho Week 2019 [3]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bedsharing, Emphasis on Comfort, Human Experimentation, Hurt Thomas (Maze Runner), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, So don't worry, Thominho Week, Thominho Week 2019, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Autumn_Marie/pseuds/Phoenix_Allura
Summary: Thomas has been feeling an odd pain in his back, but it just means his addition is coming through. He'll be fine.(He is decidedly not fine.)





	the bones beneath your skin rattle and crack before they hatch

Thomas reached for his shoulders. They had started aching again, a strange mixture of pain and the feeling that he needed to stretch. Chuck caught the movement.   
"I can massage your back, if ya want?" He offered shyly.  
"Thanks, Chuck." Thomas smiled, exhausted, at him. Whatever the Creators had done to him hadn't come through in full yet, unlike Chuck's extra set of arms. Some... additions, as they are, were less noticeable than others, like Frypan's set of sharpened canines and Newt's finger webbing.  
Thomas was bound to have another set of arms burst from his back. Maybe when they were coming through Minho wouldn't be as hard on him in the Maze. Just because he could use his wings to scout ahead didn't mean Thomas was slow.  
"What if you get wings, like Minho? That'd be so cool! The last guy who got them died as they were coming through, though..." Thomas shook his head. He didn't think he'd get anything as cool as wings.   
"Tommy, how are you today?" Newt leaned against the tree.  
"Sore. Achy. But Chuck's helping." He answered. Thomas glanced past him; people were congregating for dinner, and Minho was headed their way, frowning.  
"Back hurting you, Thomas?" Minho shoved Newt's shoulder then sat on the edge of the bench carefully. "I have something for that. Come by my room after dinner and I'll give it to you." Newt shot him an odd look, then pulled him away.  
"Come, Minho, before Frypan gives away all the food. You two have already eaten?" Thomas shook his head.  
"Not hungry." Chuck, however, tagged along, leaving Thomas to lie on his stomach in misery. As dinner began to break up, he hauled himself up and into the Homestead. Each Keeper had his own room, though a few chose to share. Minho's room was farthest from the stairs, facing the East entrance of the Maze. Thomas knew he looked a sorry sight as he climbed up the stairs, but he managed.  
"Has Thomas come in already?" He heard Minho ask downstairs.  
"Yeah, he just headed up. What's wrong with him, Minho? He get injured in the Maze?"  
"His back."  
"You think it's his addition?"  
"Yes." Thomas leaned against Minho's door. He'd wait. Minho was coming up now, anyway.  
"What are you waiting for, shank?" Minho asked, spotting him quickly. "Go inside and lay down. On the bed, mind you. It's better for you than the floor." Thomas obeyed slowly, taking in Minho's room: it was large enough to fit another bed and nightstand easily. Minho's bed, he noticed, was designed for his wings. Thomas lay down on his stomach, smooshing his face into the pillow.  
"Now you're just being ridiculous." Mingo sighed, but Thomas heard him rummaging around in his drawer.  
"Why didn't you say something earlier today?" The question surprised Thomas.  
"I don't feel it as much when we're running," Thomas muttered.   
"You have tomorrow off," Minho told him firmly. "How long has this been going on?"  
"A week, maybe. It started the day after I got here."  
"Then you've got a couple days left. You're not running until your addition comes through. Shirt off." Thomas tugged his shirt off awkwardly, knowing full well that while he was using whatever oils or lotions or whatever it was he had to help, Minho would be checking to see if he'd gained weight, if his ribs and spine still stuck out of his skin like sticks. But it had only been a few days, not long since they'd visited the Medjacks and Thomas had been found out.  
Minho dribbled cold oil onto his back and began to rub it in.  
"This should help with the pain. Just massaging won't do a whole lot." Minho explained quietly. "If it's wings, you're getting a whole new set of muscles and bones that are preparing to become an external part of your body. I think it will be wings. You're skinny enough that I can see what's forming. If that's the case, you're not running until the wings come in properly. The feathers will take longer, but once your bones and muscles are in place, I'll let you run." Thomas heard Minho moving behind him; one of his wings brushed against his back. He stayed quiet and let Minho work, starting at his chuckle.  
"Nearly asleep, are you? No, don't move. You can stay here for the night." Minho picked him up and resituated him so they would have room on the bed.  
"Good night, Thomas."  
"Night, Minho." Thomas slurred; indeed, he was half-asleep.  
Thomas woke up late; judging by the sun, it was close to ten in the morning. A glance at his watch told him he wasn't far off. Well, he couldn't stay in here all day, even if Minho had said he wasn't running for a while. Just as he was about to get up, there was a knock on the door.  
"Hey, Thomas, I brought you some food." Frypan opened the door. "Minho told Newt we should let you sleep. Is your back that bad?"  
"Most of the pain is gone now, thanks to whatever Minho used," Thomas answered. He climbed out of bed and grabbed his shirt.  
"I see why he wanted you to rest." Frypan murmured. He saw Thomas's frown and explained: "You've got a bruise stretching all across your back, just under your shoulder blades. It's especially dark around your spine." Thomas nodded, pulling his shirt on carefully.  
"See Newt after you eat." Frypan handed him the plate. "And maybe the Medjacks have something for the bruising?" Thomas nodded, but he knew he wouldn't be going to them.   
"And, Thomas, I fully expect to see you at lunch." Frypan raised a bushy eyebrow at him as he shut the door. Thomas ate his breakfast, then went to find Newt.  
"Good morning, Tommy. I see you had a bit of a lie-in."  
"I'm sorry, Newt."  
"Don't be so grave, Tommy, I'm joking. Minho explained why. And since you're not running these next few days, we need a job for you. I was thinking you could work with the Medjacks, preparing bandages and that sort of thing. You'd certainly be in the best hands if anything were to happen." Just the people he'd been hoping to avoid!  
"That sounds fine." Thomas shrugged, wincing at the motion.  
"Then run along, Tommy, and get to your work." Thomas jogged over to the little hut the Medjacks worked out of and found only Clint there.  
"Jeff is taking care of the girl." He explained. Right. Thomas had forgotten about her. "Newt send you?"  
"Yes, I'm going to be working with you for a while."  
"Get in trouble with Minho?"  
"I don't think he wants to find out what my addition is in the Maze," Thomas said.  
"Right then. Well, you can start by cutting these." Thomas cut the cloth, softer than the clothes they wore and sturdier, too, into strips of varying lengths width at Clint's direction.  
"After lunch, I'm going to have you stitch some of those strips together to make thicker bandages," Clint said. Thomas said nothing, only making sure Frypan saw him getting food before he went to find Newt.  
"How was your morning with the Medjacks?" Newt asked.  
"With Clint, you mean. Jeff was with the girl all morning. I've just been cutting up bandages; I'm going to have to sew them next."  
"Maybe we'll make a tailor out of you, Thomas." At his puzzled look, Newt laughed.  
"We're a group of hard-working teenage boys, Thomas, we go through clothes quickly. It would be an advantage to have someone able to make better-quality clothing for us. I'm not insulting you. Besides, our clothes only come in these few colors. If we got extra bandage cloth, you could dye it whatever colors you wished."  
"I don't know how to dye cloth, Newt."  
"Then you best learn." Newt laughed. "If anything, Tommy, you would take the shirts and pants we are given and stitch them together. Minho implied you'd be out of the Maze for some time. I'll write a note and drop it in the Box this afternoon. I would hate for you to be bored." Newt was smiling, but his eyes were a warning. He was going to be kept busy, very busy, and always be in the presence of others, far away from the doors to the Maze.  
"Thomas! You coming?" Clint called from across the myriad of tables. Thomas rolled his eyes but followed him back to the hut anyway. At least he was out of the sun. All afternoon, he worked on the bandages: Ten that were five strips thick of each size, adding five for each thickness as he went down, which meant he had to pause and cut more strips (that in itself become repetitive and tedious quickly), and when he was done with that, he was put to sorting and rolling the bandages, then organizing their bins, and finally to settling the bins in their proper places--all in all, Clint had kept him working on bandages, of all things, from midmorning till dinner. Thomas wouldn't have thought it possible.  
"Minho should be back soon, shouldn't he?" Clint asked. "His oils do work well on easing pains from additions. I hope you didn't neglect to mention any such pain today, Thomas." Clint gave him a sharp look, sharper than he had thought Clint capable of.  
"No, Clint, I didn't," Thomas said earnestly. "I discern no better way than hiding pain to get myself yelled at by my friends."  
"And those bruises on your back are nothing, then?"   
"Frypan told you?"  
"He told Newt, who then told me. Don't they hurt, Thomas?"  
"Only when I twist a certain way." Clint sighed.   
"I'll let it go for now. Just make sure that you let Minho treat your back again tonight. It will help. And, Thomas, be careful."  
"With what?" Thomas frowned.  
"Didn't you sleep with Minho last night?"  
"Yes, he didn't make me leave when I fell asleep as he was treating me, as you put it." Clint rubbed his brow.  
"I am not having this conversation with you. Go eat, Thomas. I'll see you tomorrow." Thomas shot a glare at Frypan as he got his dinner: Mashed potatoes and cornbread sandwiches.  
"Hey, man, I figured you wouldn't say anything. It's better if they can do something about it." Thomas ate with Newt and Chuck, Minho joining them soon after.  
"How was your day, Thomas?" He asked in an exaggerated manner.  
"It was fine, Minho." Thomas rolled his eyes. He knew how Minho's had gone.  
"I put Tommy to helping Clint and Jeff. You may have to give up your newest Runner to us, Minho, according to Clint he's quite good at neat, clean stitches--we may take him for a tailor." Newt said with false gravity.  
"Like I said this morning, you have him for at least a week." Minho turned to Thomas. "Any new developments?"  
"I've got bruises on my back."  
"I saw those this morning. Newt, you should know that I'm taking the next few days off. Those bruises mean it's likely Thomas's addition will start coming through in the next day or so. To be on the safe side, I'll stay here. I'm the only one who's dealt with wings before."  
"Are you certain they're wings, Minho?" Chuck asked.  
"Well, we didn't see yours form, Chuck, but the growth in Thomas's back doesn't have the appearance of arms." Thomas let the rest of the conversation flow over him. It hadn't been a particularly trying day, but he was tired all the same.  
"Are you coming to the fire tonight?" Newt asked. "Tommy's survived a whole week, you know."  
"I'll come for a while," Minho said. "But Thomas looks like he's not even paying attention." Thomas glanced at him.  
"Yeah, he's not. Thomas, you're coming to the fire tonight, and then I want to get some oils on your back and check out those bruises. Does it hurt right now?" Thomas shook his head. "Did you let Clint look at the bruises?" Thomas shook his head again, and Minho buried his face in his hands.  
"This one is a real shank, I'm telling ya."  
"You two are excused from the bloody fire." Newt let out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a snort.  
"You done eating, Thomas? Since you didn't get your bruises looked at, I want to check on them as soon as possible." Minho grabbed Thomas by the arm and led him back to his room.  
"If this is going to become a common thing, Thomas, I'm going to have to have the Builders make us a bigger bed. Or at least another one." Thomas pulled off his shirt and lay on the bed again. "It might be better to wait, though." Minho touched one of the bruises on his back, and Thomas hissed but relaxed into the hand that ran across his shoulders and neck.  
"Okay. I'm going to start with something different, alright Thomas?" Thomas nodded. "And don't fall asleep on me this time. I'd like to talk to you."  
"About what?"  
"Did anyone ask you today if we were in a relationship?" Well, then, blunt and to the point.  
"Clint did, of a sorts. He asked if we had slept together. I choose to interpret it in a more innocent manner than he meant and answered in that way."  
"He thought I would have sex with while you're hurt and coming to me for help?" Thomas glanced over his shoulder at Minho, who was shaking his head, seeming slightly horrified.  
"Did anyone ask you if we were in a relationship?"  
"Several people. Frypan threatened me, to be made good upon in the event that I hurt you." Thomas laughed but stopped when Minho rolled him over.  
"We've only known each other for a few days." He stated. "You've saved the life of my friend and shown me true courage in that time. You're cute and strong, and you care about people, even strangers. Maybe a little too much sometimes. But, Thomas, the Gladers are going to keep asking. And, frankly, I like you. I like spending time with you. So, do you want to try this thing out?"  
"Yes, Minho." Thomas's smile felt soft, but he knew it took up his face in a way no one in the Glade had seen.  
"Then I'll ask the Builders to discreetly begin work on a larger bed frame. How big do you think it should be?" Thomas looked around the room.  
"Double the size of this one. That way, with two sets of wings, we will both be able to fit."  
"And where are we going to find a mattress for so large a bed?" Minho laughed.  
"We will find one." Thomas figured they could ask the Creators for one, or else shove two mattresses together and put a large sheet over them. Minho nudged him, and Thomas rolled onto his stomach, breathing easily as Minho rubbed oil into his back again. He closed his eyes; he hoped Minho didn't expect him to stay awake long, it just wasn't going to happen.  
"Asleep on me again, Thomas?" He heard Minho's low chuckle as though he was far away. "It's alright, don't you mind. I know how tiring it is to gain wings." Thomas curled into Minho's arms when he lay beside him, pain gone at last.  
Thomas woke in horrid, blinding pain. Ben, he thought wildly, he has come to kill me with a knife.   
By the time he realized the pain wasn't from a stab wound going in, but rather from a stab wound coming outward, he was not coherent enough to hold the thought as he slid into the coming darkness.  
Thomas heard a voice, urging him to wake.  
"Come on, Thomas, wake up. Don't fall into a coma on us now." It sounded like Clint, but why would he be here? Wasn't it supposed to be just him and Minho?  
In the end, his confusion had him blinking at Clint and Minho. He was still on his stomach, but he could feel the addition on his back.  
"He's awake, he'll be fine," Clint said. "In pain, but fine overall. He's to stay in bed all day tomorrow."  
"I can manage that," Minho said. "Thomas, what's your pain level?" Thomas tapped his spread fingers on the bed three times.  
"Fifteen?" Minho guessed. Thomas nodded.   
"Figures. Clint, do you have anything he could take while on his stomach?"  
"All I've got are a bunch of pills. Sorry, Thomas."  
"The oils will have to do, then." Minho's face was set. "See you in the morning, Clint." Minho didn't just dribble the oil onto his back this time, he dumped it on. "I'm going to let it settle for a few minutes, take the edge off, then I'll try rubbing it in." Thomas didn't have the energy to nod, so he simply lay there in pain. The addition on his back felt heavy, and he kind of wanted to touch it, but twisting around to do so was absolutely out of the question right now. Even with the oils kicking in, giving him a little bit of relief, Thomas knew moving was a horrible idea.  
"You were screaming your sleep, Thomas, you know that?" Minho said quietly. "Not at first, it was soft then, only loud enough to wake me. I watched those wings sprout out of your back. It's just the basic bone structure now, right below your shoulder blades. Soon enough it will be muscle and skin and feathers. Tonight is the only night you'll have to deal with this pain." Thomas listened as Minho continued to ramble. It took his mind off of the pain, and when Minho settled on the bed, straddling his hips, to rub the oil in, Thomas hardly felt anything at all. (That might have been the drugged feeling that crept in after Clint left.)  
Thomas didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have because he was woken by a knock on the door.  
"I've brought breakfast." It sounded like Chuck was trying to whisper.  
"I'll take it, Chuck. No point in waking Thomas up quite yet." Minho said lowly. "Thank you." When the door clicked shut, Thomas reached out a hand to Minho.  
"Hungry, are you?" Minho asked wryly. "Don't move. You should stay in bed today. I'll find you something to do, don't worry."  
"I wasn't." Thomas rolled his eyes, and he began to say more, but Minho shoved a spoon into his mouth.  
"None of your sass, Thomas, eat your applesauce." Thomas glared at him, but it didn't last long.  
"Tomorrow you should be able to get up and walk around. I'll ask the Builders about a bed today; most of their projects recently have been redundant. And I'll drop a few requests into the Box. Are you in much pain now?" Thomas shook his head. Not much at all compared to earlier.  
"Good. There are painkillers in your applesauce, though. They should kick in soon." Thomas finished his applesauce and reached for a piece of toast. Minho slid a plate toward him.  
"Enjoy your breakfast. I imagine you'll be going back to sleep afterward." Thomas nodded. He really was exhausted; pain took a lot out of a guy. Minho started laughing.  
"I did the same thing, slept for about two days straight, only waking up to eat. You'll be fine, Thomas."  
"How long?"  
"It'll be a month before the muscles and skin come in fully, and two months before your feathers start filling in." Minho put the empty tray on the nightstand. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you when it's time for lunch." Thomas yawned his eyes closed, settling into the bed further. 

Minho dumped the trays on Frypan's counter, then went to find the Builders.  
"What can we do for you, Minho?" Chad called.  
"When you have time, I need a new bed."  
"Designed for wings?"  
"Yes."  
"Same size or bigger?"  
"Double the size of the last one."  
"Oh, I see," Chad smirked at him. "We'll get started on it right away. You got a mattress yet?" Minho held up his scraps of paper.  
"Going to request it right now."  
"Well, have fun." Minho raised a hand in acknowledgment as he turned away.  
"I didn't think you'd be out much today." Newt came up beside him. "Tommy doing alright?"  
"He's sleeping."  
"Not in a coma?"  
"No, not even close. I'm waking him up for meals and letting him sleep as much as he pleases these next two days. The pain sticks around in full force for a while, so he won't feel up to moving before then anyway."  
"How drugged is he?"  
"Very." Minho laughed. "He knows his applesauce had painkillers in it. He just doesn't know how many."  
"It's been a while since you've spent all day in the Glade. I've got to walk around and make sure everyone is doing their bloody jobs, want to come with?"  
"Maybe tomorrow. I've got to drop these in the Box and speak with Clint."  
"Alright." Minho headed toward the Box. The sooner he got these in, the better. He wouldn't avoid notice, of course--the Keeper of the Runners staying inside the walls was always something people noticed--but no one would mention it. Maybe. The routine was strict, so everyone was working anyway.  
"Clint!"  
"Hey, Minho. Thomas have any trouble with the painkillers?"  
"No. He took them in his applesauce. I didn't want to risk sitting him up to drink water."  
"Smart. Are you waking him up at lunch? I'll come up then. We can't overdose him on pain pills."  
"Tomorrow afternoon, I'm hoping to get him up and moving. Can you come help with that?"  
"Of course."  
With nothing to do, Minho started wandering the Glade, eventually making his way to the kitchen.  
"Need any help back here, Fry?" Minho called.  
"Bored, are you?"  
"A little," Minho admitted. "It's weird not being active all the time."  
"I can imagine. Cut these carrots." Minho got to work, leaving only when Frypan shoved two trays at him.  
"Everyone else is eating. Go feed yourself and Thomas. If you're still bored then, you can come help with dinner." Minho took the trays without much complaint, tapping Clint on the shoulder as he passed. The walk up to his room was quiet.  
"Food, Thomas." Minho didn't quite drop the tray onto the bed, but it was a close thing. Thomas stretched, shoulders and back popping loudly, and Minho winced on his behalf.  
"You still in much pain?" Thomas shook his head. "Good, the painkillers must be working then. Clint will be up in a few to determine if we can give you any more." Thomas tugged one of the trays over to him, Minho keeping the applesauce on his own for now. No sense in Thomas eating it if they needed to give him pills.  
"Feeling better, Thomas?" Clint asked from the doorway.  
"He said he's not in as much pain," Minho told him.  
"Then I see no reason to give him painkillers." Minho handed Thomas his applesauce. It looked like the morning's routine was about to repeat.

Thomas was tired of being bored. He'd been in bed for two days straight--mostly sleeping, but still, two days--and now Minho was saying it wasn't a good idea for him to move very far.  
"I can walk, Minho. Let me get up and walk around. Don't the Builders have to check a few things in the room anyway?" Minho threw his hands up.  
"Fine. But you're staying with me the whole time." Minho pulled Thomas to his feet and held him steady.  
"Any pain?"  
"Nope!" Thomas was on so many painkillers and the worst of the pain had faded away yesterday. He reached for a shirt, only to have Minho hand him one of his.  
"Your shirts don't have slits in the back to accommodate for your wings." Thomas practically swam in Minho's shirt, being both shorter and not at broad, but he tied it at his hips and called it good.  
"Let's get lunch, Minho," Thomas said. "And maybe we could take a walk after."  
"A short one then, Clint has requested that you join him in the Medjacks' hut again. They'll make a doctor out of you yet, Thomas." Minho laughed, but the strain around his eyes gave him away.  
"I won't let them take me, don't worry," Thomas said. "I'd much rather be a Runner anyway."  
"And you will be, as soon as you're ready to begin again. But for now I have to be generous and share you with others." Thomas laughed at Minho's dramatic manner.  
"How long until I can run again?"  
"You've got a few months." Minho grinned at him, and Thomas knew that they were going to be alright.  
Over the next several weeks, Thomas spent his time learning how to treat minor wounds and how to bear the weight of his forming wings. The bones in place elongated and nerves, muscles, and skin began to grow, leaving him with a constant itch he wasn't allowed to scratch.  
"You won't consider staying on as my apprentice?" Clint asked. "You really do have a talent for this, and it doesn't hurt that you're a fast learner."  
"I enjoy the work but I've been saying since day one that running is it for me, and also I miss the adrenaline rush." Clint cracked a smile at that.  
"Enjoy your dinner, Thomas. I better not see you in here anytime soon." He teased.  
"No promises," Thomas said. Anything could happen in the Maze. He was lucky to be considered a trainee, still learning from Minho, marginally safer than the others.  
Thomas collapsed onto their new bed.  
“Yeah, you’re not running tomorrow.” Minho’s smile was evident in his voice. “We’re trying every other day until you can build your strength up for running with wings on your back. It took me a while, too.”  
“So I’m back to working on minor injuries?”  
“No. I’m going to draw up a strength building routine that I expect you to follow. It will help. Trust me.” Thomas groaned. Today was bad enough. He was going to be super sore tomorrow.  
"Don't groan at me, this is good for you."  
So Thomas had to do strength training. Clint was nice and joined him occasionally, but other than that he was alone.  
Until his feathers came through.  
They were brown, blue, and a rich red, with hints of green on the secondaries--the main color of Minho's wings.  
"You have lovely wings, Tommy, the colors really suit you." Newt snickered when he saw them, then assured him the compliment was real. (Thomas didn't believe him on that one.)  
"Going to outfly Minho, are you now?" Frypan asked. "Have fun running, Thomas."  
As Thomas settled into his routine in the Glade, he couldn't help thinking that while getting out would be great--better than great, it'd be fantastic--he also wouldn't mind they stayed a while longer. It would give him time to stretch his wings, so to speak, and he and Minho would figure out their relationship.  
The Creators weren't so kind.  
The sun turned off.  
The electricity was gone the next day. (They started stockpiling supplies.)  
The water stopped running two days later. (They had enough water rations to last them three weeks at most.)  
They had to leave.  
To survive. (The girl never woke up.)  
They went together, using the code they'd jammed in place like bent-up puzzle pieces.  
They lost so many people. (Jeff. Alby. Chad. Allen. Terry. Chuck.)  
(And maybe the girl--they'd left her behind, so they didn't know.)  
But more of them made it through. They had packed food, water, sheets, clothes.  
Those weren't needed.  
Not when they woke to the room with dead bodies and a strange boy in the room across the way and tattoos on their necks (not when they found out it had all been a lie, they weren't safe, not in the Glade and not now. They would never be safe.).  
The Scorch, they learned, was to be their next test.  
They might not be ready, but Thomas and Minho would be shanks if they said they weren't going to try their hardest to get everyone out of there alive.  
(They didn't. They nearly lost each other, too.)  
(They had to face the Creators alone.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for reading this installment of this year's Thominho Week series. I meant to post earlier, but my job keeps me from doing as much as I'd like.  
> Comment your thoughts, as always.  
> Phoenix


End file.
